


Morning Meeting

by Eruphadriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Triss Trevelyan calls an early meeting with Cullen, who seems oddly flustered about her dropping by his quarters. It couldn't have anything to do with the rugged, bawdy, impossibly irritating Triss. Could it? Slightly NSFW at the end, but not graphic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Meeting

Keeping the stack of books in his arms balanced with his chin, Cullen used his bare foot to sweep the pile of tangled footwraps, tunics, and breeches beneath his bed. His stubble scraped against the cover of the top book. He had meant to shave. But between tidying his loft, laying fresh sheets on the bed, and putting documents in order, his own appearance has slipped through the cracks.

  
When he set the stack down with a heavy thud!, Cullen straightened and stretched. His off-white shirt rose to expose a sliver of his toned belly to the autumn air. He had to change his shirt. And fix that roof. Wait, had he shoved clean clothes in with the soiled? Cullen reluctantly got to his knees, the sun beaming down on the back of his neck. He reached one arm beneath the bed.

  
He didn't have time for this. He was already tired from laying awake all night, worrying over work. Rising early to organize his office for Triss Trevelyan's visit that morning was yet another hour and a half hewn from his slumber. Her 'wait and see' attitude did more than irk him now. As he fished out a pair of wrinkled pants, Cullen grumbled to himself the same lecture on punctuality given to him by the Chantry sisters.

  
"'After breakfast, or perhaps before, but definitely before lunch unless something should come up.'" He shook his head. Triss effortlessly said just what made Cullen's skin prickle with irritation, he had to give her that.  
At last he gave up, raking a hand through his hair. He would have to hide his nightclothes beneath his armour and --

  
"Maker's breath," he hissed as his fingers felt around. He rushed to his mirror, bare feet pounding against the floorboards. To his horror, Cullen found his golden curls to be the sleep-tousled ringlets he had almost grown out.  


  
He dove for the drawer of his bedside table, seeking his comb and the moulding cream Leliana had given him. _“Please, Commander. I insist.”_ After realizing what he looked like without it, Cullen agreed -- but did not admit it. The commander tore the tin open, only to find it empty. Why did he put it back there instead of fetching another tin? Surely, Leliana would have some laying around. Why, even Dorian's moustache wax would do. He just had to make it across the courtya--

  
Cullen halted at the edge of his loft. He squeezed his hand into a fist around his comb, its sharp prongs digging into his skin.

  
What was he doing? Setting documents straight was understandable, but cleaning his loft? Making his bed? Alphabetizing his bookcase? And now fussing over his stubble, clothes, and hair? He glared down at the two stout glasses next to his whiskey bottle by his desk. He had laid out the second glass the night before, only now realizing what he had done.

  
_It's Triss_ , he reminded himself. Her chambers were always filled with open books and loose papers. _Understandable,_ he thought to himself. _She is well-read. Though she hardly shows it_. Her short, half-shaved hair was festooned with hay more than once from her conversations with the Inquisition's mounts. _Though they seem to enjoy her voice._ The knees of her breeches always sported stains. _But she walks with the confidence of one wearing Orlesian finery._

Cullen stopped himself when he realized he was smoothing his hair. Since when did he pay attention to the sound of her voice, or how she walked? A thought came to him, too ridiculous to even finish. He concluded that it was natural to desire one's appearance to convey a sense of authority. And did not his appearance extend to the state of his living and working quarters? When he thought of it that way...

  
But he had no time to think of it. Chilly, morning winds howled through his office and sent papers fluttering from his desk to the ground. The door shut as suddenly as it opened. Heavy, slow footfalls echoed through the cavernous room.

  
"Commander?" Her voice wafted up to the barrel-vaulted ceiling. "Cullen? Are you here?" She paused, then added with a shit-eating smile in her voice, "Are you asleep?"

  
"I'll be down in a moment," he called, voice cracking. He tossed his comb back into the drawer and gave once last helpless glance towards the mirror before climbing down to the office.

  
He could feel her stare on his back. Triss didn't attempt to avert her eyes when he faced her. Cullen waited a moment. A delay in modesty, perhaps. Morning's strain stealing away her manners. But when her hazel eyes dipped up and down, taking him in from messy curls to bare feet, he knew it was more than that. Cullen's mouth twisted into a grimace. He turned towards his desk before she could see the flush that crept over his cheeks.

  
"I'm sorry to have called on you so early, Commander," said Triss, approaching him yet keeping the desk between them.

  
Cullen crouched to pick up the fallen papers. "It would have been courteous to designate a time to meet," he mumbled.

  
"I enjoy surprising people," she admitted with a grin. "So long as my arrivals are unexpected, the people of the Inquisition must always be ready to impress."

  
Cullen glared at her. Triss's dark hair was damp and spiked, pale cheeks ruddy with the morning's chill. Though shadows were smeared beneath her eyes, she managed to look rather good despite the hour. Cullen narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly and intensifying his glare. He was unsure of why he did it. He reserved that look only for the recruits who thought they knew all there was to combat (or the occasional unwanted interruption by one of his soldiers).

  
Triss's smile hardened into a determined line. She took a daring step towards him. Refusing to play this game, the commander yielded, bowing his head and replacing the papers on his desk. Triss backed away.

  
She took a sip from the glass she held in one hand, the other hand behind her back. She offered him the glass. "Orange juice?"

His gaze slid from her to the cup, then back to her. "No, thank you."

  
Triss shrugged, drained the cup, and set it down on his desk. "I didn't see you at breakfast. Then again, with Skyhold hosting so many guests at so many tables, it proves difficult to find whom you're looking for."

"You could have waited for our meeting to speak with me."

  
"That wasn't why I was looking."

  
Cullen kept his eyes trained on his desk, straightening a book. "Why were you looking?"

 

"To see."

  
He froze. One hand curled into a fist. Cullen was unsure if he was upset at Triss for teasing him, or at himself for the way his heart stuttered at her words.

  
"If we could get to the reason you called this meeting," he prompted.

  
Triss circled the desk to stand beside him. "I wanted to know where we stand in regards to our numbers. The Hinterlands proved a goldmine for folks eager to join the Inquisition. I fear I've lost count of how many soldiers we have. We could lose opportunities to strike when the time is right should we underestimate our forces. And should we overestimate..." Her pink lips turned down in a frown. "Haven was proof enough that a single battalion can make or break a battle."

  
Cullen got out the appropriate documents and for the next twenty minutes, they went over their numbers. Triss sighed in frustration at the low amount of foot soldiers they had acquired. She made a noise of approval at the number of marksmen. The Inquisitor was swayed neither way when Cullen brought up the sudden flood of mages to enter Skyhold. As their conversation came to a close and Triss wondered aloud what allies she might find during her upcoming travels in the west, Cullen stifled a yawn.

  
The Inquisitor cocked one dark, thick eyebrow. "Shall we continue this meeting in bed, Commander?"

  
Cullen's fatigue fled, replaced by cold, jarring shock. "What -- Did you j-- I beg your pardon!"

  
"You seem tired," she explained innocently. "I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable there. Why?" She took a step closer, hands folded behind her back, hips swaying and tasset jingling with the motion. "Did you have something else in mind?"

  
Cullen's face heated up. _Andraste, preserve me, she smells like lemongrass and fire._ He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came. At his own stunned silence, the commander's ears and cheeks turned scarlet as a tomato. Triss giggled, a wicked light in her eyes. He clutched the edge of his desk.

  
"Will that be all, Inquisitor?" he asked.

  
"We're having pasta tonight for supper."

  
"Pardon?"

  
"Your hair reminded me to tell you."

  
Cullen instinctively patted down his untamed curls. "I had anticipated more time to, ah, prepare," he confessed, then wondered why he was explaining himself to her.

  
"I don't mind," said Triss, lifting a hand and tucking a stray curl back in place. "It suits you."

  
She let her hand fall, her fingertips grazing his jaw. It was only for a moment, but it seemed long minutes before Triss returned her hand to its place behind her back and stepped away from him. He opened his eyes. Wait, he had shut them?

  
"That will be all, Commander," she said, her voice gentle.

  
"Cullen," he corrected. "Please."

  
Triss chuckled. "Oh, I have plenty of names I want to use, considering the state of you." She turned away from him and strode towards the door. Laying one hand on the knob, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Good morning," she said, and then she was gone.

  
When the door shut and her footsteps faded, Cullen leaned heavily against his desk and bowed his head. His heart hammered in his ears. His skin tingled where she had brushed her fingers. More alarming was the image of Triss laying in his bed, her naked, freckled body splayed out atop his new sheets as she had suggested. Eyes teasing, running her mouth as usual. There was only one way to silence her.

  
Cullen shook his head and forced his eyes open, returning from the vision. Heat pooled in his belly. He threw open the window behind his desk and breathed deep the cold, clear air of the mountains. He turned his back to the courtyard. A glint caught his eye.

  
Cullen sauntered around his desk, gaze fixed in one spot. He reached out and found the cool, smooth surface of the glass Triss has left. A small line of pale orange gathered at the bottom. Annoyance pricked beneath his skin. But he couldn't hold back his smile.

  
He could see is reflection in the glass. His hair fell into his face, gleaning soft gold in morning's light. _“It suits you.”_ Had Triss's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red when she said it?

  
Perhaps he would delay in asking Leliana for another tin of moulding cream. Just for a few days.

**Author's Note:**

> Get it? B-Because he has noodle-like hair? No? Anyway... Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged.


End file.
